And Who Can Be In Doubt Of What Followed

by Alexa Adams

  “Yes, Mr. Tilney. I cannot but feel a similar degree of gratitude towards Miss Tilney, yet I am afraid that this account poses some problems in regards to your request. It is not to be supposed, considering his late position, that General Tilney will be prevailed upon to condone such a union as you seek, and I am afraid that I cannot, in good conscious, bless an engagement that is so disagreeable to your parent.”

  Though Henry's face fell, he proceeded with firm determination. “I understand your perspective, Mr. Morland, but let me assure you my own fortunes are in no way dependent upon my father. I am in possession of a very comfortable living and will inherit a considerable sum secured upon me through marriage settlements. Though my father may withhold these for the duration of his life, which I trust and hope will last for many years, I am fully able to support a wife on my own.”

  “That is all very well, Mr. Tilney, but money is not my chief consideration. You have shown yourself a considerate and feeling young man. Even in this time of conflict, you maintain a becoming degree of paternal respect, which speaks very well of your character. Could you really countenance marrying so decidedly against your father's will?”

  Henry nodded his head sadly, “I certainly would rather not be in such a situation, sir, but I cannot be hopeful that anything will alter my father's opinion.”

  “What of your report? You have now seen with your own eyes that we are not quite destitute, as the General seems to believe. Would not your word sway him?”

  “I fear that in matters of matrimony, my father’s dominant concerns are rather mercenary,” he blushingly acknowledged.

  “Well, we must hope that circumstances intervene to change his mind. In the meantime, while I welcome your overtures towards Miss Morland, I am afraid I must withhold my consent to an engagement.”

  “I understand your position, Mr. Morland, and while I respect it, I do not deny myself extremely disappointed.”

  “These things have a way of working themselves towards an agreeable conclusion, Mr. Tilney. Do not despair. What is meant to be, will be.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Morland. I hope you prove correct.”

  They shook hands, a formal gesture which Mr. Morland familiarized by patting the younger man on the shoulder comfortingly. “Let us speak to the ladies. I am sure Catherine has shared your news with Mrs. Morland, and they must be anxious to learn the outcome of our conference.”

  In case there was any doubt, both Mrs. Morland and Catherine rose in a most expectant manner upon the return of the gentlemen, and the absence of any of the many other Morlands indicated that mother and daughter had been engaged in private discourse. Catherine stepped forward in anticipation, but upon seeing the serious turn of Henry's demeanor, she held back, a crestfallen look overtaking her expression. Having explained the circumstances to Mrs. Morland, she was duly warned by that sage matron not to be overly hopeful of a positive outcome to Mr. Tilney's request, but youthful spirits led her, nevertheless, to be most sanguine in her expectations. Surely Mr. Tilney, with his able and eloquent tongue, could convince her father to give his consent.

  Mr. Morland, seeing the angst in the young people’s eyes, took it upon himself to convey the bad news. “Well, my dears, I have had the very great honor of receiving a request for your hand, Catherine, from this very fine young man. Though I would be pleased to bestow you upon such a gentleman as he has proven himself to be, I am afraid that the current opposition of his father to must presently hinder my consent. However, should the General have a change of heart, I see no objection to such a desirable connection. I congratulate you, my dear, for securing such a worthy man’s affections.”

  Though her father tried to soften the blow, his words seemed to Catherine the loss of all hope. Her mother, as might be expected, took them rather differently. She greeted her husband's announcement as only the mildest set back, her own style of parental care not comprehending how anyone could long oppose the wishes of a beloved child, and while her innate honesty forced her to acknowledge that, "Catherine would make a sad, heedless young housekeeper," she was quick to supply the consolation of there being nothing like practice for improvement. A delay of formal engagement provided an opportunity to better prepare for the matrimonial state.

  As the young people were not engaged, they were not allowed the luxury of a private parting. Catherine was denied the solace of bemoaning their lot in Henry’s sympathetic ear, but the Morlands were not so unreasonable as to not prohibit the couple from exchanging a few words out of reach of chaperoning ears.

  “I will speak with my father, Catherine. Somehow he must be brought to reason.”

  “But how is he to be swayed when all his prejudices are so decidedly against me?”

  “I do not presently know, but we will somehow find a way to prevail. I know it.” He spoke to reassure not just Catherine, as he was in need of some fortification himself. “I will write to you and let you know how all proceeds.”

  “Oh, please do! I will look for your letter daily.”

  At this heartfelt declaration, Henry's smile returned. This is why he fell in love with Catherine Morland: she made no attempt to feign nonchalance, as a more worldly woman might, or tease him into a state of uncertainty. Here was all honesty. “And I shall as eagerly await your response.” Reluctantly they parted, Henry returning to what was now his only home, to watch over his young plantations, and extend his improvements for her sake, to whose share in them he looked anxiously forward, while Catherine remained at Fullerton to cry.

  **********

  After allowing her daughter what Mrs. Morland considered an excessive amount of emotional indulgence, Catherine was called upon to leave the false comfort of her now tear sodden pillow and resume her normal activities around the parsonage. Her work progressed to a degree, for her mother's gentle reminders of the importance of good housekeeping kept her diligent in trying to complete Richard's cravats, but she did not make much more progress than she had before Mr. Tilney's visit. A fanciful mind, under the influence of the joys and heartbreaks a near engagement simultaneously bestows, will understandably wander. Catherine could not decide what held greater sway: the felicity of knowing that her love was returned, or the disappointments attendant upon indefinite delay. No matter how she pondered, no scheme revealed itself with which to work upon General Tilney. Mrs. Morland remained insistent that he would, inevitably, allow his son to marry where he chose, but Catherine, with her better knowledge of the General's character, could not bring herself to such an optimistic perspective.

  It was with great relief that Mrs. Morland welcomed a letter, not many days later, addressed from Gloucestershire. A brief consul with her husband proving both to be of like minds in thinking no harm could come from the correspondence, particularly if they did not inquire too closely into the matter, she passed the missive onto her daughter and was notably relieved to see her sullen aspect cheered by its sight. While we can honor the good sense that drove the Morlands to respect their daughter's privacy in this manner, I feel no such scruples:

  My dear Catherine,

  In the few days that have passed since I was last in your company, life at Woodston has become nonsensically dull. The house craves your enlivening presence just as much as I. Though you were only ever here once, I see you wherever I look. The parlor you so admired will be furnished posthaste, so that it is ready to welcome you on that happy day I bring you to your new home. In the meantime, there are several improvements I think might be enacted on the grounds, and though I have no notion if you should approve of my taste, I find I care little as the occupation is a welcome distraction from our unhappy separation. Once you are installed as mistress, replacing the phantom that currently haunts the parsonage in your place, you may make any alterations you choose. See what you have done to me, dear Catherine? I, who have always fancied myself a sensible man, have adopted the same sort of fantastic notions usually reserved for the heroines you so admire. At least my ghost is a happy one. If I cannot have the
real Miss Morland, I shall have to make do, for the time being, with her shade.

  And how do you pass your time, my love? Please write to me with all the little details of your daily life. I promise not to take the Allens in dislike just because they enjoy your visits while I languish in deprivation. Indeed, I must ever be thankful for their bringing you to Bath and into my life, and can begrudge them no pleasure. You must commend Mrs. Allen on the extraordinary value derived from that particular muslin she wore to the Lower Rooms on the night of our introduction, for I am sure it was my extensive understanding of ladies' fashions that made you look favorably upon me, as it certainly could not have been the trivial conversation that I insisted on imposing upon you. Perhaps I should not inquire, but did the gown you wore on that particular evening – the sprigged muslin with blue trimmings – fray as I then predicted? I do recall seeing you in it again, and though I noticed no unusual wear at that time, you must understand the great joy I would derive from having my prediction proved accurate. Not that I wish such a fetching garment be lost to you, my dear, but if I may distinguish myself in one area of taste, I shall feel more assured of my triumph in the theater of home decorating. Tell me, do you favor blue or green damask for a sofa? I shall not inquire if you prefer yellow, for I know such a violation to be inconceivable on your part. My estrangement from Northanger means that I cannot call upon Elinor's good judgment on such matters. I must worry for my sister at this time, as she must be fearfully lonely. Perhaps, in the dark of night, I can smuggle her some new books to enjoy. As I already know your very strong feelings against History, may I inquire which novels you would recommend? Has that something shocking you predicted yet been released upon unsuspecting London Town? I am sure it would perfectly suit my present purpose.

  Until we meet again, which I pray will be at no distant time, I am faithfully yours,

  Henry

  P.S. If you truly prefer yellow, I suppose I can learn to tolerate it.

  Such a letter could only bring smiles to Catherine's face. References to past happiness and future felicity combined to make her perfectly cheerful for the remainder of the day. Between writing her response, walking to the post office to mail it, and visiting with Mrs. Allen to discuss Mr. Tilney's surprising knowledge of fabrics, Catherine even found the attention to finish one of Richard's cravats! The morrow might bring about a renewal of melancholy, but with more such letters to look forward to, Catherine began to feel she might bear the separation tolerably well.

  When compared to the plight of others, Catherine had good reason to be thankful for her present happy state. The schism that Henry Tilney's insistent pursuit of the unacceptable Miss Morland enacted between himself and his father caused no greater suffering than that endured by their sister and daughter, Elinor. These were sad and lonely days for Miss Tilney, abandoned at Northanger Abbey with little company other than that of servants. Following Catherine's eviction from the house, General Tilney was not long in returning to London, thereby depriving his daughter of even his dictatorial companionship. Elinor was no stranger to hardship, and in these trying times she turned to those same occupations and diversions that had helped her weather all the disappointments of her life. The loss of Henry was no small disadvantage to her circumstances. In both her mother's death and her forced separation from one young Captain Johnson, a companion in arms of Captain Tilney's, it was the presence of this most sympathetic brother that lifted her spirits. Now that his comforting attention was denied her, Elinor found her lot hard indeed. While proud of her brother's defiance of their father, as asking Catherine to leave Northanger had been one of the most difficult tasks she had ever been called upon to perform, she could not help the jealousy she felt that he was free to pursue his own path, while she remained under the total command of their father. The future appeared bleak, with the only possible means of escape being marriage to a gentleman of the General's choosing, selected for his wealth and position rather than the likelihood that he would make her happy. The substitution of one form of tyranny for another was not a prospect Elinor could take comfort in, so she diligently applied herself to the demands of the household, plied her needle, and studied her books, all in attempt to drive despair from her soul, and all the time unaware of the events unfolding to decidedly improve her fortunes.

  **********

  Captain Tilney was following his father’s example by amusing himself in London. Little concern to him was an estranged brother and languishing sister: it was his pleasure to pursue the same style of occupation that Isabella Thorpe had been so accommodating as to provide in Bath. Several of his companions in arms were likewise enjoying the season, as their fashionable regiment was often at leave to do. However, not all equated pleasure with dissipation, and still others found it completely elusive. One young and worthy member of this band of brothers had the particular misfortune to receive word of a terrible misfortune. A beloved brother was dead, rendering Captain Johnson the sole living representative of his line. If other members of the regiment thought a noble title and fruitful estate ample compensation for his loss, it was not deemed sufficient by the only person whose sentiments mattered, and he would remain Captain Johnson forever if it meant his brother still lived. The only aspect of his new status in which he could find any solace was the notion that his increased fortune just might, someday, allow him to marry where he chose, a freedom previously denied.

  The new viscount took himself off to his ancestral home, there to oversee the burial and execute the will, while Captain Tilney repaired to his father’s fashionable home in Mount. He found the General still consuming an ample breakfast, the proportions of which were in keeping with that gentleman's notions of a proper buffet. Knowing that such abundance was not laid out for the purpose of sustaining its sole partaker, but rather for the luxury of wastefulness, the Captain helped himself to a generous plate and joined his father’s table.

  “To what do I owe the pleasure of this unaccountably early visit, Frederick? Had I known of your intentions, I would have ordered a more worthy repast.”

  Frederick smiled at his father's inhospitable tone, it being precisely what he was accustomed to, and with no hesitation launched into the disclosure that was sure to make him a far more welcomed guest. “I come bearing important news for you, sir, the like of which is sure to overcome any inconvenience my presence may cause.”

  General Tilney looked up skeptically from his plate, a mere lift of an eyebrow serving as invitation for his son to proceed.

  “Lord Seagry is dead.”

  The General paused in his consumption, taking a moment to finish his mouthful and put down fork and knife before replying succinctly, “Indeed?”

  “Johnson received word last night. His brother was traveling homeward when the carriage overturned, breaking the sorry man’s neck.”

  “How unfortunate! Does the new viscount remain in town?”

  “He’s off to attend family and estate matters. Assuming that in his haste and grief he does not meet with the same fate as poor Richard, he should be installed as master of Gravenly Hall no later than tomorrow.”

  The General rose from the table to look out the window, breakfast momentarily forgotten, and clasped his hands behind his back contemplatively, “I think it only appropriate we pay our respects. What say you, Frederick?”

  “I am at your disposal, sir.”

  “We will leave in the morning. Nine o'clock sharp. I want to share this news with Elinor before she hears of it through other means.”

  “Very good, sir.”

  And so it was that Elinor's isolation came to an abrupt end. With great surprise did she witness the return of her father, let alone her brother, weeks before she had any notion of seeing either. Like the dutiful daughter she was, her greeting was one of sincere welcome, but upon hearing the reason for their appearance, she was overcome with dismay at the tragedy of this unforeseen event.

  “Poor Lord Seagry! Captain Johnson must feel it acutely, for he loved his br
other so!”

  “Is that all you have to say?” demanded Frederick.

  “I suppose that we must be grateful that death was swift,” she replied. “Lord Seagry is unlikely to have suffered.” Such words, while conveying her very real sorrow, concealed a longing for one more dear to her than life itself: a degree of attachment understandable for one declared, by a most reliable source, the most charming man in the world. Yet while Elinor’s natural modesty guarded her feelings, her family could still penetrate her heart.

  “I declare you are as bad as Johnson! They certainly deserve each other, Father.”

  “You will forgive your brother’s lack of grace, my dear,” admonished the General, “but you must see that this unexpected event, tragic though it undoubtedly is, must prove greatly to your advantage.”